Castiel Novak is the type of guy who can silence an entire room with just one glance. With his brooding frown and piercing blue eyes, he's captivating and handsome. He seems wholly unaware of that fact as he moves through the throngs of students and other teachers with an almost distracted air, looking for all the world like he's got something of import on his mind. Or perhaps he's just weighed down under all the books he constantly seems to be carrying. He's Dean's obsession, his infatuation, the reason he can't sleep or eat or breathe without thinking of him... and the man barely seems to know Dean exists beyond the four walls of his classroom.

Castiel had arrived at the school in early January after the English Literature teacher slipped on a patch of ice and broke her leg. He was to cover for her during her recovery and then to stay on if another suitable post arose. His twin brother Jimmy was already well-established as the Classics and Religious Studies teacher, so it seemed only natural for Castiel to follow him. He had seemed like easy pickings to the students at the start of his first day, stumbling out of his battered Lincoln Continental with his tie on backwards and hair a mess as though he only just woke up. Dean, over by the bleachers, had zoned in on him immediately and knew he was going to have a little fun giving the new teacher a rough ride on his first day. At that moment, Castiel had only been a tiny figure in the distance getting out of a crappy car. Nothing more than that. Dean couldn't even really see his face.

Fresh blood. Easy pickings. Excellent fun for someone like Dean Winchester, the class slacker, known for his big mouth and bad attitude.

But Castiel immediately proved him wrong.

The first five minutes of Dean's English Lit. class passed and no teacher arrived. Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen, and the students were bored and restless. Paper airplanes were thrown, two jocks got into a scuffle, and just as Dean got up to leave the door opened in his face and he found himself staring into intense blue eyes and a grim smile, and all of the false bravado he normally carried with him deflated in an instant. As they stood and stared at each other, Castiel looking at ease while Dean's heart began to pound, the class slowly fell silent around them. It was as though the crackling tension that had instantly exploded between them could be felt by everyone. Silence stretched on for a beat, then another, until someone behind him coughed pointedly.

"You must be Dean Winchester."

Castiel's voice was low and rough and sent a small shockwave of desire down Dean's spine. He nodded mutely, robbed of his words for the first time in living memory. He tried to subtly scent the air around him, trying to pick up the man's scent, but he was too far away. There was no real need anyway. He knew instinctively that he was staring into the face of an alpha. His throat went dry, his heart raced, and it took a full minute for him realise that he was standing in Castiel's way. The English teacher was watching him impassively, eyes flicking over his face before they moved behind him to gaze at the silent, observing students, and Dean felt his face burn.

"Please take a seat, Dean. The class is only just beginning."

It was a shock to everyone, including Dean himself, when he did as he was asked. Dean Winchester never does as he's asked, at least not quietly. He felt a ball of paper hit the back of head and lowered his eyes, swallowing hard. What the hell? He should have told this newbie teacher where to go, mocked him for being late and pushed past him to head out for a self-inflicted free period. Instead he had acquiesced immediately and without question, almost like a damn…

Almost like an omega faced with an alpha. And not just any alpha: their alpha. Dean groaned silently and buried his face in his hands. He isn't like that. He isn't ruled by his body. He took a breath and looked up, determined to do something to reclaim his bravado, but as soon as Castiel began speaking about their current project, Leaves of Grass , he was rendered mute again because holy shit the guy is incredible. And, somehow, he's got most of the class captivated despite their prior moaning about the 'unspeakably dull' book of poetry. (Dean likes it, privately, but never allows himself to say so.) And so he sat and listened along with the rest of the class, trying not to wonder what the hell was wrong with him and why he couldn't calm his racing heart until the bell chimed and he could escape the classroom.

In the boys' bathroom he splashed water on his face and braced himself on the sink, staring at his own reflection.

What the hell is wrong with you, man?

He knew, of course. He was reacting to the proximity of an alpha he liked, and it was confusing as all hell. It didn't feel like he thought it would. He's heard the stories, of course, of omegas becoming incomprehensible in the presence of alphas they were attracted to, of their bodies responding urgently - sexually - but this didn't feel like that. He felt need, sure, but a different kind of need. He needed to be close to Castiel, to look into his eyes, to touch him, to be touched, to be noticed . And frankly, he would have preferred the mindless arousal to the confusion and panic now churning in his stomach. Had Castiel felt the same? Was he, right now, in a staff bathroom with the same tremors and harsh breathing? Dean didn't know, but he damn well hoped so because this feeling was scaring the hell out of him and he didn't want to suffer through it alone.

He's made his peace with his secondary gender. He had to. When he presented as an omega just after his sixteenth birthday, suffering through a heat that almost killed him, John Winchester had sat him down over a glass of Jack and spoken to him frankly and bluntly about what that meant for him. The motel room had smelled of old cigars and cologne, and was too stuffy and claustrophobic for a new omega just coming out of his first heat. Dean had trembled the entire time, on the verge of tears of shame for feeling like he let his father down, and that feeling was compounded by John not meeting his eyes and finding the table and his glass more interesting than his son. When John had mentioned suppressants and scent blockers, to keep him safe from the predatory alphas that frequented the motels they stayed at, Dean hadn't been able to hold in a choked sob. John had glanced up, startled, and had stood up after seeing the tears of shame glittering on his son's face. When Dean flinched back, afraid he was going to be hit or shaken for his pitifulness, something that looked a lot like pain had crossed his father's face.

"Dean," John wrapped an arm around his son's shoulder and hauled him close, not letting go even when Dean tensed and gripped his father's leather jacket tightly, unfamiliar with the embrace. "It's alright, son. It's gonna be just fine."

Sam had accepted it all with curious bewilderment then had gone on to talk about his school physics project as though Dean's secondary gender didn't matter to him at all. Which was, in fact, the truth. Sam would be a beta, Dean thought as he lay awake at night and watched his baby brother sleep. He was sure of that fact. He had never been sure of himself, always known he wouldn't present as an alpha, but an omega… He shook his head in the darkness. It had never even crossed his mind.

And since then he's never met an alpha he felt anything but disgust for. Being young and pretty, with long eyelashes and full lips, he attracted his fair share of attention. Attention that was usually rebuffed instantly by a growl from John Winchester and the occasional parking lot scuffle. John protected his own, no matter what, and Dean had never felt any need to be afraid with his father around. All the alphas he's met have been repulsive men, too old for him and too dominant, or predatory women with sultry smiles and too-tight handshakes, and as the months passed he found himself wondering if he would ever be attracted to anyone, male or female. He took suppressants, never suffered through another heat, and wore scent blockers to hide himself at school. It was easier that way, for his friends to assume he was an alpha or a beta and for him just to shrug when they asked. Lying by omission wasn't exactly lying, right?

Then Castiel happened, and Dean's life changed with a bang.

He tosses and turns every night in his uncomfortable motel bed, thinking back over his lessons with his handsome new teacher. Picturing the way Castiel holds his pen, the expressive way his eyes light up when he talks about something he loves (which is his entire subject), the way he frowns when marking papers, the clumsy, awkward way he holds himself when he's got his hands full of books. Dean had helped him out one day, leaping forward to catch a copy of Dante's Inferno before it hit the ground as Castiel attempted to juggle his books, satchel, and coffee unsuccessfully. When he had handed the book back, he had hoped for something. Anything. A spark of recognition, acknowledgement, something in Castiel's eyes to reflect that he feels the same way as Dean does. But instead he got a distracted, "Thank you, Dean," and Castiel had walked away.

On January 24th, Castiel walked past Dean in the corridor and said, "Happy birthday, Dean," before carrying on like it was nothing. Dean gaped, staring after him, watching his trench coat flap around his ankles as he walked, as his friends fell about laughing.

"Happy birthday, Deeeeean !"

"Happy birthday, sugar!"

"Aww, it's Dean's 18th birthday and his favorite teacher remembered! Best gift ever, right?" Charlie flicked her red hair and made kissy faces in the direction of Castiel's retreating back.

"Shut up." Dean shoved Ash hard against the lockers which only made the mullet-haired teen laugh harder.

"Man," Ash straightened up, wiping tears from his eyes. "Dude is weird."

" Yeah," Dean agreed distractedly, watching the classroom door where Castiel had disappeared into it. "Weird."

But that moment remains one of the best of his short life so far, and he thinks about it constantly when he's supposed to be sleeping. Or eating. Or studying, or working out, or helping Sammy. He can't help it he's completely, utterly, ass-over-tit in teenage love with his Lit. teacher. And he's sure it's only fifty percent to do with his hormones. Maybe sixty. The alpha thing definitely helps. But Castiel is just so… Perfect , his mind supplies, shying away from the word it had originally chosen. Dean refuses to let himself even consider that particular word; he's locked it far away in an untouchable box - at least for now. At least until the day, the sublime day, that he can get Castiel to notice him properly. As more than just a dumb student, the idiot slacker who just hangs with his friends and causes trouble because he can. He spends his days daydreaming, watching Castiel teach and wondering what his hands would feel like cupping his jaw, stroking his face... what his mouth would feel like to kiss. And his nights are spent either staring at the ceiling and reliving every precious second they've spent in the same room or dreaming wildly of being locked in the arms of the handsome alpha. And he still hasn't got close enough to Castiel to pick up his scent - he probably wears blockers like the rest of the staff, but if Dean could just get a little nearer, maybe he could get the tiniest hint. He knows Castiel will smell incredible no matter what.

Weeks pass in a blurry haze, with his friends laughing at him and poking fun, and his grades starting to slide even further. And Castiel still hasn't noticed him.

But now, here they are - rr rather, here Dean is - slumped across his kitchen table and pushing his breakfast around his plate, bleary-eyed from yet another sleepless night spent thinking about Castiel. He's trying to scribble some homework down with one hand while shovelling oatmeal into his mouth with the other and almost jumps out of his skin when Sam pounces on him from behind then falls about laughing.

"Gotcha!"

"Get lost, Sammy, I gotta finish this." Dean gives his brother a baleful look and Sam just laughs harder as he sits down to his own oatmeal and gives it a sour look. "No Lucky Charms today, kid. Sorry."

"I'm not a kid." Sam eats at the speed of a starving rhino and Dean gawps at him in surprise. "What? I want to get to school early, the debate society is meeting before homeroom." Then, curiously, "Why haven't you finished your homework already?"

"Meant to. Forgot." Dean is non-committal at best in the mornings, and especially so when it comes to discussing the reason why he forgot to do his Physics homework. He was thinking about Castiel, yet again, and time had just… gone somewhere.

Sam eyes him with a calculating stare that belies his young face. "He still hasn't noticed you, huh?"

"What?" A mouthful of oatmeal goes down the wrong way and Dean descends into a coughing fit. When he re-emerges, watery-eyed and blinking, Sam is still watching him with interest. "Dunno who you're talking about."

"You do. Mr Novak. I've heard you talking in your sleep, Dean." Sam manages to look both sympathetic and condescending in the same moment. Then he makes a face. "And I've heard other things, too. Things I swear I'm gonna need brain bleach for."

" Sam!"

Another coughing fit begins, one that Dean extends on purpose this time just to prevent this conversation from continuing. It's true that he's had more than one exciting dream about Castiel, and has woken up more times than he can count with his underwear soaked with slick and cum and his cheeks burning hotly. But to think that his younger brother has overheard… Suddenly, a new, more horrifying thought strikes him.

"Does Dad…?"

Sam shrugs and downs his entire glass of cheap, gas-station OJ in one gulp. "If he does, he hasn't said anything. I don't think he cares, Dean. As long as you're safe and happy."

"Doesn't sound like Dad," Dean grumbles, ducking his face and wishing his cheeks would stop burning. "He wanted an alpha for a son."

Something hard hits him on the forehead and he lets out an indignant yelp as Sam's spoon clatters to the floor. His baby brother is glaring at him with sparks in his eyes.

"This again? You know that's not true, Dean. You gotta move past all this."

"Whatever." He stands up, scraping his chair harshly on the cheap lino floor, scooping up both their bowls and dumping them in the sink. "I'm done with the chick-flick garbage. Time for school."

They walk the two miles to school in almost silence. Sam tries to read a book while walking and Dean yanks his brother out of the way of oncoming cars, lampposts, dog leads and other people more often than he'd like.

"Pay attention, Sammy. Gonna wind up wrapped around a parking meter."

"It's Sam ." The book snaps shut indignantly as they reach the gates and his brother hisses at him fervently. "Please, Dean, stop calling me that. I don't want my friends overhearing."

"And here I thought you were too smart to worry about what all the other kids think." Dean ruffles his brother's hair and barks out a laugh when Sam squawks.

"Like you, you mean?" Sam smoothes down his hair - which is getting pretty long and needs a cut - then smirks as a beige Lincoln Continental grunts it's way into the parking lot. "Oh wait, you only care about what one person thinks, right?"

"Fuck off, Sam." It comes out as a growl. Dean is one-hundred percent done with this conversation - but he isn't looking at Sam any more. He's looking over the wall and into the parking lot, to where Castiel is climbing out of his car and talking animatedly to his brother as they turn to walk into the school. He doesn't realise he's staring until Sam elbows him in the side. He turns to reprimand him harshly, but Sam just shakes his head and gives him a peculiar, sad sort of smile.

"Make him notice you, Dean. Then if he does, you'll know if he likes you."

" Likes me? He's my teacher Sam, it's…" He flails helplessly for a word. "Gross." It isn't. It so isn't. It's everything Dean has ever wanted and more but he has to at least try and save face, right? Sam sighs, seeing straight through him, and yanks his school bag higher up onto his shoulder.

"You're eighteen, Dean. You're not a child any more. Whatever you wanna do, it's up to you. He's only going to be your teacher for another couple of months."

"Yeah, well, I'm sure it's immoral or something." Dean side-eyes Sam. "You shouldn't be encouraging me."

"Well, I want you to be happy. So." Sam shrugs and turns away. "See you later, Dean."

"Yeah, bye Sammy."

He turns and heads for the steps with it's Sam ringing in his ears and laughs to himself. The kid is too wise for his own good sometimes, he really is. At thirteen, Sam has his head screwed on straight and seems to know more about life than Dean ever did at his age. There are only four and a bit years between them, but sometimes Dean feels like the younger brother being guided by his elder. He frowns. Maybe he put too much on Sam when he should have kept it to himself. Maybe Dad put too much on both of them, leaving them in motels while he goes out hunting deer and rabbits and whatever else he does that means he comes back late at night and exhausted. Maybe -

"Oh!"

Dean walks straight into someone so hard that he almost knocks them both to the ground. Staggering, he's held up only by the warm body in front of him and the hands that shoot up to grip his biceps. There's a flutter of pages and the sound of books hitting the ground - and Dean's feet - then he's gazing up into piercing blue eyes and for a moment his entire world comes to a standstill.

Castiel.

Dean takes a breath, about to open his mouth and apologise furiously, but instead Castiel's natural scent fills his senses and he's rendered mute under the onslaught. The world seems to zone out somehow and it's just him and Castiel with the scent of the alpha all around him. Green tea, honey, old leather-bound books, fine wine... He feels suddenly dizzy as he takes in each individual scent and Castiel's hands grip his arms a little tighter to keep him upright.

"Dean?" The low, husky voice sounds strangely distant and Dean blinks sluggishly to clear his vision. "Dean, are you alright?"

"I…"

"Dean!"

Everything comes back into focus at freight-train speed, as though someone has turned up the volume, and he's hyper-aware of Castiel's hands steadying him, of his concerned frown, of his perfect blue eyes and… and of Charlie standing all of two feet away.

"I'm… I'm fine," he manages and Castiel releases him slowly with a nod. "I'm sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going."

"Don't worry. It was my fault." Castiel is bent down now, gathering his books, and Dean is trying to swallow around his dry throat, aware that Charlie's eyes are boring into the back of his head. His teacher stands again, books clutched to his chest, and gives Dean an appraising look. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yes," he manages with a nod, his heart pounding in his ears. That smell. Castiel smells amazing and it's taking all his self-control not to lean in for more. They're still standing close together - already closer than strictly appropriate - and it would be so easy just to move a little closer. He wonders if his own scent is noticeable through the double-layer of blockers he wears, and if it is, what does he smell like to Castiel? Enticing? Sweet?

"Dean."

Castiel's voice is firm this time and he blinks owlishly, then realises to his utter mortification, that he had been leaning in and he scuffles back a few steps in frantic dismay. Castiel tilts his head curiously, then after a moment's pause he moves away, heading for the Languages corridor.

"I'll see you in class, Dean. Don't be late."

Then he's gone and Dean sags against the lockers, distraught for reasons he can't explain. He covers his eyes with his hands and waits for Charlie's verdict on what just happened. When it doesn't come, he parts his fingers to peer at her.

"Go on. Say it."

"Nope! I'm not saying anything!" The bell rings above them, startling them both, and she loops an arm through his to drag him away from the lockers and down the corridor. "But you're lucky nobody nobody else less cool than I am was around to witness that hot mess."

"I don't know what you're -"

"It's fine that you like him." She continues, as though he hasn't made a sound, tossing her red hair over her shoulder to display the Star Trek logo on her tee, and steers him towards their classroom. "But try and keep it in your pants, Winchester. At least in school. People talk, you know?"

"I - I know."

Rattled, hot, and feeling oddly shaken, he follows her to their morning homeroom session where he sits and gazes into empty space, only responding to her when she prods him in the ribs and hisses questions at him. She's the only friend he has who knows he's an omega, so he trusts her not to make fun of him. That isn't what he's thinking so deeply about.

His thoughts are back with Castiel and the moment when their eyes met, when they were pressed so close together and Castiel had caught him in his arms. Because despite the impassive way Castiel had righted them both and brushed him off, he's absolutely certain he saw the alpha's eyes flash red in between one blink and the next.